


I'm the ghost in the back of your head.

by mxhorned_rose



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxhorned_rose/pseuds/mxhorned_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a year. <br/>A year since the day I shot my best friend in the head and covered my hands with his blood. <br/>A year since the day I lost my light, my warrior, my hope, my soul, my only reason to live and the only person I’ve ever loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm the ghost in the back of your head.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written this in Italian, but I'm not very good at translating Italian to English. So...Thanks Elfo98 for the translation!

“So I walked into the haze

And a million dirty ways

Now I see you lying there

Like a lie low losing air… air.”

Thomas never thought he would have seen Newt again after their last encounter, at the Crank’s Palace: yet, when he did see him, when he met his dark eyes, he had no doubt he was actually there. He looked terrible, with his greasy hair, torn in certain places, giving a glimpse of his red and bruised skull. His beautiful face was full of bruises and dried blood, and there were purple splotches on his cheeks; his clothes were ripped, as if he’d just had a fight with a wild beast. Not that it was a lot different from dealing with a Crank. It was a strange feeling, the one the brunet was now feeling in his chest: sadness, in contrast with the happiness of seeing his friend; and again resignation, fear, anxiety, nervousness, everything. All the possible feelings were hitting him all at once, without giving him the chance to think clearly. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath: he’d told Lawrence to stop the van, he’d got out, he’d said that it would have been only a short goodbye, when he was perfectly aware that it would have had nothing of a farewell between “friends”. He started to slowly walk towards his friend, after shoving again the gun into his jeans, regardless of the Cranks not too far from them. Not a single group of those people completely out of their mind, as dangerous as a pride of lions, could have scared him. And most importantly he couldn’t have cared less.

“Black rocks and shoreline sand

Still that summer I cannot bare

And I wipe the sand of my arms

Let´s bannish the horror the place that you´d wanna

Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here forget the horror here

Leave it all down here.”

He stopped in front of Newt, though he still kept a safe distance, and the thing that frightened him most was his best friend’s gaze: mad, angry, desperate… Yet, that hint of sadness in his eyes was still there, even now that he was becoming one with the illness. The Flare was devouring his brain at a frightening range, but Thomas wasn’t really surprised by that: Newt had been through incessant mood swings, escapes from death that was still trying to catch them, hopless people, things that Thomas and Minho could handle, but he couldn’t. Not that he was weak, Thomas never thought he was. In fact, he’d always thought he was one of the bravest guys he’d ever met in the last few months, if not years. And he didn’t want to lose one of the most important people in his life. -Hey, Newt, it’s me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?- The fear of being forgotten by the one who had been one of his best friends during those months in hell, suddenly hit him. –I bloody remember you, Tommy. You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can’t go completely crazy in a few days.- Those words hurt him more than the sight of his friend in those conditions. Maybe he really had ignored the note, or maybe he hadn’t understood when was the right moment Newt told him about, days before. He didn’t even know it anymore. It hurt too much to remember the boy’s face at the Crank’s Palace. Thomas had failed him, not granting his last wish, put down on paper. But even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have done it. How could he kill his friend, the one who had never left his side and always gave him hope when Thomas only wanted to give up? The one he had – accidentally, unintentionally, without realizing it, or whatever – fallen for. He’d admitted it by now, and not even the harsh reality, that gets around you like a brick wall you crash into, could have changed his mind; neither Teresa nor Brenda would have been able to make him feel what he was feeling at that moment. Call it destiny, Fate, necessity, coincidence, whatever the shuck you want, but he would never have stopped to think of those dark eyes, that grin that didn’t light his face up anymore, of his voice and his laugh that always made him smile. It would become his worst nightmare from now on.

“It’s future rust and then it´s future dust

Forget the horror here, forget the horror here

Leave it all down here

It’s future rust and then it´s future dust”

-Then why are you here? Why are you with… them?- He saw the blond glanced at the Cranks, turning then to look at him again. –It comes and goes, man. I can’t explain it. Sometimes I can’t control myself, barely know what I’m doing. But usually it’s just like an hitch in my brain, throwing everything off-kilter just enough to bother me, make me angry.- -You seem fine, right now.- “What the shuck are you saying, Thomas?!” -Yeah, well. The only reason I’m with these wackers from the Palace is because I don’t know what else to do. They’re fighting, but they’re also a group. You find yourself alone, you don’t have a bloody chance.- -Newt, come with me this time, right now. We can take you somewhere safer, somewhere better to…- To what, Thomas?, he thought. To die? Newt laughed, and when he did his head twitched strangely a couple of times, making Thomas jolt. –Get out of here, Tommy. Get away.- -Just come with me…- Thomas was now begging him, he almost knelt to do that. –I’ll tie you up if it makes you feel better.- He cursed himself for what he just said; Newt’s face hardened and he literally spat out words filled with hatred, that Thomas never thought could come out of his friend’s mouth. –Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn’t you read my note? You can’t do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!- “He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it...” It was like getting kicked in the stomach, one of the strongest that knocks the breath out of you for a minute. All Thomas’ convictions, at that moment, were crumbling like an instable paper castle in the wind; nothing, in the life he’d managed to remember, had ever been as painful as to hearing those words. The bullet in his arm, gotten in the Scorch? A simple trouble. The lightning shots gotten in W.I.C.K.E.D’s headquarters? It hurt like a mosquito bite. But those words, those simple words… had broken his heart, turning it into dust. He’d closed his eyes for a moment, as if not to let him see how much those two sentences hat hurt him. They were now misty, Thomas felt them sting. -Newt...- Now the waves they drag you down Carry you to broken ground Though I find you in the sand Wipe you clean with dirty hands -It was all your fault! You could have stopped them when the first Creators died. You could’ve figured out a way. But no! You had to keep it going, be the hero. And you came to the Maze and never stopped. All you care about is yourself! Admit it! Gotta be the one people remember, the one people worship! We should have thrown you down the Box hole!- Newt’s face had colored to a deep red, and spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. He started taking lumbering steps, towards the brunet; his hands balled into fists and his knuckles, a while ago slightly red and bruised, covered with blood, were now white. -I’m gonna blast him! Get out of the way!- Thomas heard Lawrence yell form the van and immediately turned towards him. –No! It’s just me and him! Don’t do anything!- He turned back to Newt, begging him. –Newt, stop. Just listen to me. I know you’re okay in there. Enough to hear me out...- The brunet murmured, his lips pursed, while the other kept walking to him. –I hate you, Tommy!- He was now a few feet away from him. Thomas was about to being overwhelmed by all his feelings. -I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! After all I did for you. After all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do! I can’t even look at your ugly shuck face!- He was right, despite the fact that those were the ravings of a Crank. Newt had always been there for him, since the moment he’d gotten out of the Box: when Gally targeted him, Newt was there. When they had to escape, Newt was there. When Chuck died, Newt was there. For everything that had happened, tragic or good, Newt was always there. But he couldn’t kill him…

“So god damn this boiling space

Lets bannish the horror the place that you´d wanna

Leave the horror here

Forget the horror here forget the horror here

Leave it all down here.”

-Newt, you need to stop. They’re going to shoot you. Just stop and listen to me! Get in the van, let me tie you up. Give me a chance!- He couldn’t kill Newt. He just couldn’t. The blond screamed and rushed forward. Lawrence had shot an arc with his Launcher, but it missed the Crank. Thomas had frozen in place, too shocked and confused by what was happening so fast around him, and Newt tackled him to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of him for a few seconds, he tried to recover but the boy on top of him prevented any type of movement. Newt’s legs tightened his hips and his hands were on Thomas’ shoulders, pinning him down to the ground. -I should rip your eyes out- Newt hissed. –Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why’d you come over here? You expected a bloody hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good times in the Glade?- “It’s future rust and then it´s future dust I’m the fury in your head I’m the fury in your bed I’m the ghost in the back of your head.” Thomas was too terrified to say something. He would probably have rambled if he’d tried; he just shook his head, as much as possible from that position. Slowly, he reached out for the gun in his jeans. -You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don’t think I did.- -What happened?- Thomas asked. Even if he was trying to postpone the inevitable, the worst, he was truly curious about what had happened to his friend that injured him. He’d immediately noticed that “little” handicap and he’d wondered about what caused it, but never had the guts to ask him, even when they’d become more than friends. Another proof of his cowardice. In the meantime, he’d slipped his hand on the gun and his fingers around it: the contact with the cold metal sent shivers all around his spine. -I tried to kill myself in the Maze. Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all... your... FAULT!-

“Cause I am

I’m the fury in your head

I’m the fury in your bed

I’m the ghost in the back of your head.”

Newt suddenly moved his hand away, from his shoulders to the gun Thomas was holding and pulled it against his own forehead. Thomas eyes widened. No no no no no. NO! It can’t be happening! NOT NOW. -Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!- Newt’s yelling was hurting him, killing him slowly, more atrociously than any other Crank could have done. He was one step away from bursting into tears like a child. Even so, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to the boy he loved. He tried to pull his hand away, but Newt was too strong. –I can’t, Newt. I can’t.- He whispered, looking at him with his doe eyes filled with tears, begging him to stop pushing. Newt’s voice was now like the howl of a caged animal: he was desperate, suppliant and angry and, maybe, frightened. Thomas could sense the boy trembling against his body and, if they hadn’t been in that kind of situation, he would have hold him in his arms. If he hadn’t been forced to shoot him in the head he could have hugged him, run his fingers through his blond hair and comforted him, told him that everything would have been okay, given him new hope. -Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery.- Those words horrified him.

“Cause I am

I’m the fury in your head

I’m the fury in your bed

I’m the ghost in the back of your head

Cause I am...”

-Newt, maybe we can…- Thomas tried again to convince him, in vain. -Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!- -I can’t.- -Do it!- -I can’t!- Now both of them were yelling, to convince the other: the gap between their faces had reduced, Thomas could feel the other’s heavy breath on his own face. How could he? How could he even think about ending his life? He was so young... -Kill me or I’ll kill you. Kill me. DO IT!- -Newt...- -Do it before I become one of them!- -I…- He couldn’t. -KILL ME!- Newt shouted for one last time, narrowing his eyes. Thomas had thought, for a second, that he was raving, that he was too shocked and terrified and was hallucinating, but when a tear touched his cheek he snapped back to reality. It was Newt’s. He was crying. The sight of him like that, was one of the worst thing he’d ever seen: the Grievers and the other Cranks, with their pulsating veins on their white skin, as transparent as tissue paper, were nothing compared to this. They were just beast created by W.I.C.K.E.D. or humans hit by a viral disease, complete strangers. But Newt… Newt had come into his life like a bolt from the blue. And if they’d been whether phenomena, Thomas was sure he would have been a simple fog and Newt an hurricane. Without letting go of Thomas’ hand, and so of the gun, Newt pulled off him, forcing the other to sit. The situation was now almost reversed: the blond sat with an hand on the concrete and the other holding Thomas’. His eyes cleared and Thomas could see, behind the curtain of tears that hid his dark irises, the smiling boy he’d grown to know and he’d hopelessly fallen in love with. Madness was gone. There was just sadness, now.

“Forget the horror here, forget the horror here

Leave it all down here

It’s future rust and then it´s future dust.”

-Please, Tommy. Please.- His voice had softened and Thomas heart skipped a beat. -Please, Tommy… Please...- Newt was now whispering, almost softly, his own death sentence. Thomas was trembling and maybe crying like Newt… he didn’t know it anymore. He was too frustrated, confused… he felt everything and nothing at the same time. He didn’t hear the noise all around them, the moaning mixed with the laughter of the Cranks, the sound of the van not too far from them. He didn’t hear anything, as if the world had decided to turn mute to let him hear his own heart pounding. He didn’t hear anything, not even when Newt pulled the gun away from his forehead, still holding his wrist, and placed his lips on Thomas’. He didn’t feel anything, as if he’d been covered by a mantel of apathy, impossible to shake off. While their tears mixed together, while their lips moved in harmony against each other, as if they were made for this, the brunet felt the grip tightening. Time was up. The gun was back in his place the moment they pulled away. He didn’t need to say it again. Thomas knew what was the right thing to do, for Newt’s sake. “I’m the fury in your head…” He heard him whispering in his head, even if the boy’s lips were completely still. “I’m the fury in your bed…” Thomas swallowed. The hand holding the gun trembled like it’d been hit by a powerful electric shock. “I’m the ghost in the back of your head…” He heard his voice; He saw his tired and empty eyes. He saw that note he’d hold in his hands. Two sentences that had torn his world apart. Kill me. If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me. He didn’t remember how he’d felt reading and reading those eight words all over again: maybe he’d been angry at himself, for failing the one and only person who trusted him. Maybe he’d felt dizzy. He didn’t remember, because all the emotions he was feeling right at that moment, had made him forget everything else. Newt was waiting, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks. He didn’t want to fail him again. -Newt… I love you.- He found it difficult to pronounce those two, simple words. He had to make appeal to all of what was left of his courage, that seemed to have slipped away. The blond gave him one last, sad smile. -I love you too, Tommy.- With his heart falling into a black abyss, from which he would never have come out, Thomas pulled the trigger. The noise of Newt’s now lifeless body hitting the ground, was one the worst sounds he’d ever heard. He heard it. He heard the sound of the blood pumping out the blond’s head, at the passage of the bullet. He even heard the sound of his heart shattering, as if made of crystal: it was the noise of a broken glass. He twisted onto his stomach, got up and then ran away, his eyes still closed not to see what he’d done. What he’d become. He simply ran, ran away from the place where he’d become a murderer, away from the body of the boy he’d loved with all himself.

“Cause I am

I’m the fury in your head

I’m the fury in your bed

I’m the ghost in the back of your head.”

[After a year.] It’s been a year. A year since the day I shot my best friend in the head and covered my hands with his blood. A year since the day I lost my light, my warrior, my hope, my soul, my only reason to live and the only person I’ve ever loved. I miss him. I miss him more each passing day: I miss his grin that made me... makes me smile like an idiot; I miss his deep, dark, but terribly sad eyes; I miss his blond hair where I always wanted to run the finger through. But what I miss the most is his laugh, and even his limp that made him unique. I miss everything about him, good or bad. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same without him. I tried to create myself a new life, with the help of Minho and Brenda, but nothing is like before. I don’t understand how my heart’s still so damaged, broken, after a year. It’s weird. He’s all I can think about: from the moment light gets through the curtains and forces me to open my eyes, until it’s so dark outside I can’t see a thing. I see him even at night: he whispers in my ears, he tells me he’s always with me and protects me from where he is. I still have dreams about that day and it still hurts. Badly. I wish he could have seen this world too, not destroyed by illness and by that stupid organization. We couldn’t recover the body, because of our escape through the Flat Trans, but I insisted to dedicate a grave to him, in the cemetery of the city where we live now. I’m here, at the moment, looking at the stone with his name. Minho and I come here every day. It’s dumb, but it’s the easier way to feel him with us again, even if there’s nothing of him in the ground. We stay silent, hoping and praying that one day – somehow, who knows when – he’ll come back to our lives. I haven’t told Minho how he actually died, yet… shuck. I don’t think I can handle another friend leaving. I just can’t. I’m here, knelt in front of Newt’s grave, my lips sealed and my hands on the ground. It’s raining. Rain slides on my body and it’s cold, but I don’t care. The usual mantel of apathy covers me, preventing me to feel any kind of feeling. I’m shivering. I don’t know what happens, this time, but my vision starts getting so blurred I can’t even read the name “Newt” on the stone anymore. Tears stream down my face and I don’t stop them. I bite my tongue not to scream, even if I should. I wipe the tears with the back of the hand. I feel something else, but it’s not bad… it’s a new strength, a new hope. It’s a new fight. Newt wouldn’t want all of this, he wouldn’t want me to feel sorry for myself like a loser, because to him I’m not. All those words he said, those accusations I immediately believed, were not true: it was the disease, the Flare, talking for him. I get up, taking a deep breath. I want to stay strong, for him, not to fail him again after all the efforts he made not to let me give up. He’s become like a fury in my head, a ghost in the back of my head, and I can’t help greeting him with open arms. For the last time, I read the sentence I wanted to be written on the grave, under his name, and smile for the first time in a long time; I turn my back to it and walk away, leaving my friend’s breath and his sentence behind. “Great. We’re all bloody inspired.-Newt.”


End file.
